The diesel engine rumbled, and the vessel pulled away from the pier. Richard headed for the wheelhouse where Stephen was, with Harry following close behind. From the very first minutes, Scott Potter turned pale.
Richard stopped beside the detective and asked with concern:
"Mr. Potter, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Scott muttered unhappily.
"Are you sure?"
"It's seasickness, kid." Scott's face took on a faint greenish tint, and he struggled to suppress the urge to vomit. "It's fine. I'll make it."
"Mr. Potter, I'm sorry for putting you through this. If I'd known you were afraid of heights and couldn't handle the motion, I wouldn't have bothered you."
"It's all fine, kid. Don't mind me. I'll just sit off to the side and get some fresh air."
"Mr. Potter, please put on a life jacket and try not to fall overboard while you're 'getting fresh air over the side.'"
"Just go already!"
The moment the boys disappeared into the wheelhouse, Scott dashed to the side of the vessel and, with dreadful sounds, parted with his breakfast.
"Uncle Scott doesn't look like himself at all," Harry remarked.
"Stress, a hangover, poor health," Richard stated calmly. "I understand him. Unfortunately, I don't know any spells for seasickness."
"Neither do I," Harry said. "Richie, I think it'd be a good idea to learn how to brew medicinal potions at Hogwarts and study healing charms."
"Potions don't interest me, Harry."
The boys arrived at their destination. The vessel's wheelhouse was small. There was a little sofa and a chair—no more than four people could fit inside.
"You're here," Stephen noticed boys. "Richie, what course should I set?"
"One moment."
Richie took out his wand, placed it on his right palm, and gave it a spin.
"Edicto—ship Port Nicholson!"
The wand began spinning on his palm like a top. After a few moments, it stopped, and a thin red beam shot out of it.
"Head straight east," Richard said after checking the compass on the control panel.
"Aye," Stephen replied.
"What kind of spell is that?" Harry asked curiously.
"It's similar to Accio, except instead of summoning the object, the beam points in the direction of what you're looking for. Though it won't work on wizards or magical artifacts—only ordinary objects without a trace of magic."
"That's awesome!" the younger Potter exclaimed enthusiastically. "Will you teach me? I can't seem to find my other sock very often."
"Harry, no problem. But I'm afraid it won't help you find your socks."
"Why not?" Harry asked in surprise. "They're not magical!"
"The thing is, Harry, socks disappear into another universe. They're stolen by sock monsters. So, unfortunately, no spell can show you the way there."
For a couple of seconds, Harry froze, trying to process what he'd just heard. The tense lines on his face smoothed out, and the corners of his lips crept upward.
"So you're joking!" he exclaimed.
"You don't believe in sock-stealing monsters, but they exist!" Richard continued, barely holding back a smile. The twitching corners of his lips gave him away.
Harry Potter burst out laughing. Richie joined him.
"All right, Harry, let's go out on deck," Richard said, glancing at the instruments. "Judging by our speed, we've got about five hours of sailing ahead. You'll have time to learn the tracking spell."
On deck, Harry learned the new spell.
After several hours at sea, the boys returned to the wheelhouse and periodically checked their course using the charm. Before long, the beam from the spell began pointing downward at an angle, and the boat started circling until the beam ended up aimed directly at the deck.
The first thing they did was measure the depth. It turned out to be a full two hundred thirteen meters to the bottom. Because of that, dropping anchor was impossible. Stephen decided to let the boat drift.
"My lord," the bodyguard addressed Richard, "how are you planning to retrieve the treasure?"
"We'll dive and get it."
"Master Richi," Stephen continued, "the depth here is too great, and the current is too strong—it'll be impossible to dive."
"Magic can do anything!"
Richard went out onto the deck and pulled two small suits from his satchel, almost like toy space suits. With a flick of his wand, he enlarged them to a child's size.
Harry watched his friend's actions with excitement. He was expecting to see something new and magical.
A pale Scott sat in a deck chair, wearily examining the suits.
"What are those, scuba suits?" he asked.
"Almost, sir," Richard replied. "They're supposed to be space suits. But for now, they're just one of the first prototypes."
Mr. Potter propped himself up on his elbows and carefully examined the spacesuits made of silvery material with transparent glass domes.
"And where's the air tank?" he asked.
"Sir, there's no need for air tanks. These suits are enchanted with a Bubble-Head Charm. There will always be as much air inside as needed."
"Kid, you heard Stephen," the detective said. "It's over two hundred meters to the bottom. Even if you have an unlimited supply of air, you'll die! The pressure will crush you flat. And even if that doesn't happen and you start ascending in time, you'll get decompression sickness and die. On top of that, the current could sweep you away. No, kid—I won't let you dive."
"Sir, this is an advanced development by wizards, commissioned personally by me. The suit is designed with everything needed for survival: the enchantments make it incredibly durable; inside, charms maintain an ideal temperature in conditions ranging from minus one hundred to plus one hundred degrees; plus protection from high and low pressure, G-forces, radiation, cosmic rays, and more."
At first, Harry was disheartened by Uncle Scott's words—because the moment he saw the suits, he had been fired up with the desire to dive to the ocean floor. But as Richard began listing the artifact's features, a spark of hope was born in the boy's heart: perhaps all was not lost.
(End of Chapter)
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